


Flight Plan

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trowa joins the mile high club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight Plan

For shinigami-irae in exchange for her GORGEOUS art for the covers of volumes 1& 2 for captainmixtaper (check them out on tumblr). Based on her prompt of some smutty 2x3 mile high action in the pilot’s rest area aboard a Boeing 777.   
A/N: First apologies because I know NOTHING about planes and flying things and made up almost all of this after doing a few google image searches.  
Second, I kind of see this as a companion piece to Faux Pas. Obviously not in the same universe, but in a way, it’s Trowa’s chance to get his revenge, so to speak.

Warnings: language, smut  
Pairing: 2x3

 

Flight Plan

“A little young, aren’t you?”  
Trowa arched an eyebrow at the older, paunchy flight commander and shrugged.  
“Old enough to do the job.”  
The man snorted a laugh but he handed Trowa’s credentials back to him.  
Trowa resisted the urge to roll his eyes or comment - best to just let the old man be cranky and not push it. He didn’t want to arouse any suspicions, not before the plane had even gotten into the air.  
Instead, he slipped the leather wallet into his breast pocket and he stowed his carry on in the overhead compartment in the pilot’s rest area.  
He had never been on a Boeing 777 before, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. Even if he did belong here, he wouldn’t have felt like it. The rest area had two large, curtained berths with spacious, surprisingly comfortable bunks. There were also two very plush chairs, a large screen television and a well stocked mini-fridge. Trowa had stayed in five star hotels with worse accommodations.  
He adjusted his tie and stared at his reflection in the mirror above one of the berths. He did look young - but not that young. He took off his hat and pushed his hair back, combing through his long bangs and trying to get them to stay back on his forehead. It was, as usual, a losing fight.   
As he put his hat back on he shoved his bangs under. Later, when he took it off, they would be a mess. But right now, it was the only thing he could do to.  
Despite the fact that he felt like an imposter - despite the fact that he was an imposter - the black suit fit him well and he looked the part. He looked like a young co-pilot and he had been practicing this for weeks, had memorized training manuals and felt like he could do this.  
He went back down into the cockpit, where the flight commander, the grizzled old man who had introduced himself as Howard, was going through the pre-flight check list.  
One of the flight attendants wandered their way.  
It was a man, his bright white smile wide and open, his narrow frame shone off to perfection in the navy trousers, vest and white dress shirt he wore. Trowa had to arch an eyebrow as he looked at the man’s neck, as he saw that he was not wearing a tie, but instead a scarf, tied the same as a tie, and tucked into his vest. But it was unmistakably a scarf.  
Trowa had to raise an eyebrow at that, at what had to be a blatant rules violation, but then he saw the man’s braid of hair, reaching down to the middle of his back, and it was clear that a scarf instead of a tie was the least of his uniform violations.  
The flight attendant’s eyes were a deep, dark blue that sparkled with humor and - if Trowa was reading them correctly - challenge as they looked back at Trowa.  
The flight attendant arched an of his own and looked between Trowa and Howard.  
“What happened to Bill?” he asked.  
Howard didn’t bother to look up from his check list.  
“Sick. Had to call this rook - I mean, this young man in as a replacement.”  
Trowa rolled his eyes and held out his hand.  
“Trowa Barton,” he introduced himself.  
“Duo Maxwell.” Duo’s hand was firm, the shake quick.  
“Grab me a seltzer water, Duo,” Howard said, still not looking up.  
“Anything for you, sir?” Duo asked, a smirk on his lips that made the sir sound like something between an insult and a pet name.  
“Just water.”  
Duo inclined his head and walked away, his braid swaying slightly, and Trowa couldn’t help but watch him, couldn’t help but look at the outline of his ass in those navy trousers.  
He fit the description - but then, when the description was charming, blue eyed and handsome damn near anyone could fit that description.  
Trowa sat down beside Howard but he didn’t lift a finger to assist him. Copilot or not, Trowa was absolutely not going to risk his life by attempting to run through the pre-flight check.  
He remembered the assignment for this mission, the straws they had drawn, the relieved sigh from Wufei, the superior smirk from Heero. No one had wanted to tackle this case, and in the end their superior, Une, had forced them to draw straws to see which unlucky bastard got stuck with it.  
And Trowa, monumentally unlucky bastard that he was, had gotten stuck with it.  
He remembered Heero slapping him on the back and telling him that it was a good thing he had gotten over his fear of flying last year. He remembered Wufei telling him that it was too bad Trowa had been chosen, because he wanted to request him to go on a drug bust with him in Arizona but oh well. He remembered Une telling him to suck it the fuck up and start learning how to sound like a pilot because this was the FBI, not the Boy Scouts, and if you got assigned to go undercover and arrest a thief who was posing as a flight attendant and robbing people blind a mile in the air then that’s what you did.  
Trowa still didn’t understand the Boy Scout reference - he still didn’t understand half of Une’s references. But he understood the impatient tilt of her frown and the glare of her eyes behind her glasses. Stop bitching and do the job.  
He had spent the last six months chasing after this thief - this man who somehow managed to finagle his way aboard almost every major US and European carrier without the slightest problem and rob first class passengers while they napped or sipped on champagne.  
It was, at its heart, a brilliant plan - who bothered to check their valuables after disembarking from a plane? Who thought there was even the slightest chance of someone stealing from you when the thief was locked in an airtight cabin for two to eighteen hours? It was genius, but it was also crazy. Because if you did get caught - there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.  
Trowa admired the man almost as much as he hated him. Hated him, because Trowa knew that the path for advancement at the FBI did not involve accruing so many frequent flier miles he could go to Bali for a month. It involved flashy drug busts in Arizona or uncovering terrorist cells in New Jersey with Heero.  
But instead, Trowa got to spend half his time obsessing over surveillance tapes and interviewing flight attendants who were more focused on getting his number than giving him a description of the replacement attendant who had shown up and charmed everyone. The other half of his time was spent clutching at the arms of a pilot’s seat and praying that the actual, real pilot beside him didn’t die or get too drunk because while Trowa had gone through the training, had logged a few hundred hours in simulators, he absolutely had not gotten over his fear of flying and had only told Heero that so would stop giving him shit.  
Duo came back and passed the seltzer to Howard and a bottle of water to Trowa. He lingered in the cabin, hip against the back of Trowa’s chair, resting his elbow on the top and his long fingers tapping on Trowa’s hat.  
“No need to look so worried, babe,” Duo said. “Howard’s not going to fall asleep and force you to take over.”  
Trowa turned enough to glare at Duo and narrowed his eyes at the mischievous humor he saw. He wasn’t used to people reading him that easily - and hell, he had had his back to Duo. How had Duo known he was worried?  
He jerked his head out of Duo’s reach and Duo chuckled. He offered Howard a little salute and then sauntered out of the cabin.  
“That boy,” Howard muttered and shook his head.  
“Do you work with him often?” Trowa asked.  
Howard shrugged.  
“This is the third time I think. Good kid - big mouth, but he knows how to chat up the passengers. I remember the first time he flew with me - New York to Paris - and we had a couple break up about an hour into the flight, start fighting and shouting and Duo, hell, I don’t know how he did it but by the time we were an hour from de Gaulle he’d convinced them they were soulmates and helped them start planning their wedding.” Howard shook his head. “He bother you too much just tell him to fuck off - he usually takes hints pretty well.”  
Take off was uneventful, and Trowa was, as usual, exceedingly grateful that the pilot had to keep his focus on the sight in front of him and didn’t have time to look over and see Trowa, pale and sweaty with a death grip on his seat and his eyes clenched closed.  
It wasn’t until they were two hours into the flight and Howard had started to regale a thoroughly uninterested Trowa in stories of his conquests in Paris that Duo made another appearance in the cabin, stopping by to ask if they needed anything.  
“Pretzels, kid. And some good conversation,” Howard added with a disdainful shake of his head. “This guy…”  
Trowa shrugged apologetically. He had never been known for his conversational skills. He wasn’t surprised that altitude did little to improve on them.  
Duo smirked and turned to Trowa.  
“And you, sir?” The taunt - the tease was there again.   
“I’m fine,” Trowa growled.  
Duo chuckled and patted Trowa on the shoulder, his hand lingering, his fingers squeezing.  
“Let me know if you think of anything I can do for you,” Duo said and he winked.  
After four hours, Trowa decided to stretch his legs, Howard waving him off and giving his blessing and Trowa very gratefully got up and walked towards the rest area.  
On his way, the door to the cabin opened and Duo Maxwell stepped in, a smirk curving his lips as he saw where Trowa was heading.  
“Not about to sleep on the job, are you?” Duo asked.  
Trowa raised an eyebrow.  
“What job? Thus far my job has consisted of listening to Howard describe the nipples of twelve different middle aged women in Paris.”  
Duo leveled his right index finger at Trowa.  
“Hey. Some of those descriptions are damn near poetic. I’ve listened to them three times already.”  
Trowa shrugged.  
“What, you’re not into middle aged Parisian nipples?”  
“I prefer my nipples to be more masculine.”  
“Ahh.” Duo gave him a wicked grin. “And what about age preferences?”  
Trowa allowed himself to look over Duo’s body.  
“No preference.”  
They shared a long, heated look.  
Duo jerked his head towards the rest area.  
“Want me to provide turndown service?”  
“I didn’t realize this was the Ritz,” Trowa muttered, but he followed Duo up to the rest area and locked the door behind him. It probably wasn’t necessary - probably wasn’t even allowed considering the potential of Howard needing him - but Trowa didn’t want to risk any interruptions.  
Duo was still smirking at him, the curl of his lips almost mocking. He nudged Trowa’s hat brim back, until it tipped off his head and Trowa’s bangs fell forward.  
Trowa fingered his scarf and couldn’t help but smirk at the feel of the silk between his fingers. How the hell did he get away with it?  
He didn’t realize he had spoken aloud until Duo laughed.  
“I get away with a lot of things, babe,” he confided.  
Trowa was willing to bet his life on that.   
The descriptions of their mile high thief had been vague at best - charming, blue eyed and handsome. It was clear he wore wigs, clear he did very little to give himself away but, according to the blushing, stammering flight attendant Trowa had interviewed in LA last week, the thief had a tattoo around his belly button, and infinity tattoo that ran parallel with his spine, the bottom loop circling around his belly button.  
It was practically nothing to go on - but if Trowa could at least get Duo undressed enough to confirm that he could try actually questioning him. Of course, the process of undressing Duo gave Trowa the added opportunity to check his pockets for stolen goods as he did so and he was not disappointed.  
As Duo divested Trowa of his jacket, his trousers and his short sleeved dress shirt Trowa took his time, working at the buttons on Duo’s vest and running his fingers over the welt pockets, feeling the hard, cold lump of something that, when Trowa slipped his fingers into the pockets after pulling the vest free of Duo’s body, turned out to be a diamond necklace.  
Duo left Trowa’s tie on, and Trowa thought it was kinky but didn’t put much thought into the move.  
He felt Duo’s dextrous fingers trail over the front of his boxers, teasing his half hard cock.  
Trowa tugged Duo’s scarf free and tossed it aside, watching its graceful fall for a moment before Duo slipped his hand under the hem of his boxers and wrapped his fingers around Trowa’s cock.   
Trowa closed his eyes and groaned. It felt good, and it had been awhile for him. But that didn’t mean he could let himself enjoy this or get distracted.  
He opened his eyes again and started to unbutton Duo’s shirt, taking his time, trying to maintain his cool.  
Duo stepped back and shrugged out of the shirt and stood before Trowa naked from the waist up, save for his amused smirk and an infinity tattoo around his belly button.  
Trowa smirked and he pulled Duo close, angling their heads together for a kiss but Duo stopped him with a finger on his lips.  
“Nah,” he said, his voice soft and amused. “Not on the lips, babe.”  
So Trowa lowered his head and brushed his lips over Duo’s neck, caressing the pulse point with his tongue and then biting down gently.   
Duo grunted and his hands roughly jerked Trowa’s boxers down.   
He stroked Trowa’s cock and his balls and Trowa tried to focus on his search, on lowering his hands to Duo’s hips and feeling for his cock through his trousers, letting his fingers graze over the contents of Duo’s pockets in the process and he felt like shouting in triumph.  
Those pockets were definitely full of something.  
Before he could remove Duo’s pants, Duo knelt down, licking his way down Trowa’s chest to his cock and then looking up at him with wide, mischievous eyes as he bobbed his head down the length of Trowa’s cock, swallowing him entirely.  
“Fuck,” Trowa groaned. It felt good, even better when Duo started to move his head up and down, taking Trowa’s cock in and out in long, deep strokes.  
He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to focus.  
“I have lube - and condoms,” he said, not surprised that his voice sounded strained.  
He reached for his bag in the overhead compartment and unzipped one of the side pockets. The cold steel of the handcuffs gave him a momentary respite, allowed him to turn his brain back on.  
But it came too late.  
Duo was back on his feet, standing up and wresting the cuffs from Trowa’s hands before Trowa was even aware of him moving.  
They struggled, but somehow Duo gained the upper hand, somehow his smaller, leaner body managed to pin Trowa down on one of the berths and cuff his hands together around the bar on one side that was used to climb out of the berth.  
Once he had that accomplished, Duo sat back on Trowa’s thighs and regarded him. Most of the humor was gone from his eyes.  
“Quatre told me you were cute. Didn’t tell me you were this fucking sexy, though,” Duo murmured.  
Trowa stared.  
Quatre - Quatre the shy, nervous, stammering witness who had nevertheless described Duo better than anyone else.  
Fuck. It had been a trap.  
“Let me go,” Trowa bit out.  
Duo stared at him as though he was insane and then laughed.  
“Yeah. I’ll get right on that. Your key in that bag?”  
Duo sat up enough to lean out of the berth and reach for Trowa’s bag. He plopped it down on Trowa’s chest, ignoring his pained grunt.  
Duo rifled through it, found his service revolver and held it up.  
“This is a dangerous thing to have in a pressurized environment,” he commented and pointed the gun at Trowa’s right temple. “You got low velocity ammunition in there? It’s messier, but probably won’t travel too far.”  
Trowa had been in worse situations. Had had to face down semi automatic weapons. Had had to disarm a homemade bomb once with Wufei breathing down his neck the entire time.  
But he’d never been naked, straddled by a dangerous man pointing a gun at his head.  
Duo put the gun back in the bag and pulled out a stack of files. His files.  
Duo hummed happily and settled back, shifting his bony ass on Trowa’s knee caps until he was comfortable.  
“Ah, my favorite subject. Just what have you feds found out about me?” He scanned through the files and then grinned. “Nothing. Interesting.”  
Trowa felt pretty confident that Duo wasn’t going to kill him - but then again, he was pretty confident that he had also drastically underestimated him.  
Duo next reached for Trowa’s battered copy of Cat’s Cradle. He arched an eyebrow.  
“I prefer Mother Night,” Duo said and put the book away.  
Trowa had to stare.  
“What? Just cuz I steal doesn’t mean I don’t take the time to read Vonnegut.”  
Trowa wondered if Duo would look through the playlists on his iPod.  
“Hm.” Duo frowned and reached into the bag again. “Sorry. Can’t seem to find that key.”  
Trowa glared. Duo smirked.  
“Well, since you’re stuck here, I’d best make sure you’re comfortable. Going to be another four hours before we land and probably another thirty or forty after that before somebody comes in to get you.”  
“Howard -”  
“Howard’d believe me if I told him my dad was Jesus, Trowa.” Duo tapped his finger against Trowa’s nose until Trowa jerked away. “That’s the good thing about listening to people talk about middle aged Parisian nipples and pretending to care - they like you.”  
“So if I’d only listened to Howard talk about those nipples none of this would be happening.”  
Duo shrugged.  
“Probably not, no.” He grinned and searched Trowa’s bag again, finding his toiletry kit. “Ah - ha. You weren’t lying about the lube and condoms at least.”   
Duo held up his hand triumphantly, a condom and a small tube of lube between his fingers.  
“You aren’t serious.”  
Duo frowned.  
“Why not? You clearly wanted to fuck me earlier - or are you going to tell me it was all some part of your interrogation plan and you didn’t want to put your dick in my ass?”  
Trowa glared. He was certain it didn’t matter what he said - Duo would know the truth.  
Duo nodded.  
“That’s what I thought. And… you are pretty hot. Plus,” he leaned forward and rattled Trowa’s cuffs, “I’ve always wanted to have somebody at my mercy.”  
“Happy to oblige,” Trowa muttered.  
Duo shoved Trowa’s bag to the floor.  
“Now that was almost good customer service, Tro. Just think - if you work on that, you might be able to get a job at a call center or something after the FBI fires you.”  
Trowa felt the blood drain from his face.  
Shit. Fuck. Damn.  
Duo looked at him without pity as he shoved his trousers and boxers off so that he was as naked as Trowa.  
“I’d offer to make you my partner,” Duo said, his breath hot on Trowa’s soft cock as he leaned close and licked at him. “But you’re clearly afraid of flying and I don’t think you’d be very good helping out the passengers.”  
“Fuck you,” Trowa bit out.  
“Oh, I fully intend to,” Duo assured him with a wide grin.  
Trowa tried not to be aroused, tried to think of Une naked - tried to picture those dozen pairs of middle aged Parisian nipples Howard had been so lyrical about - but it didn’t work. After just a few minutes of Duo licking and sucking at his cock and balls Trowa was just as hard as he had been before.  
“Now,” Duo said and sat back, his own cock once again erect as well. “I don’t really like to take advantage of people -”  
Trowa snorted.  
“So, I can just leave you here like this… or, whaddya say, wanna join the mile high club with me?”  
Trowa glared into those devil may care eyes and he wanted, very badly, to tell Duo to leave him like this.  
He wanted very badly not to want Duo, not to want those nimble fingers to keep stroking him, not to want that mouth on his cock again.  
But he did want those things.  
“You’re going to have to say it, Tro,” Duo taunted him. “Tell me you want this so I can sleep well at night and not be haunted by you.”  
“I’m going to track you down after this. I will haunt you,” Trowa assured him.  
“Yeah, yeah.” Duo leaned close, let his breath puff against Trowa’s lips. “You’re going to follow me to the ends of the earth and make me pay. I get it. But do you want to fuck or not?”  
“Yes,” Trowa groaned.  
Duo smirked.  
“Good. Me too.”  
Duo ripped the condom open and rolled it down Trowa’s cock.  
“I’d ask you to finger me, but,” Duo glanced at Trowa’s handcuffed wrists, “you’re a little occupied. So don’t worry, I’ll take care of it myself.”   
Duo spread some of the lube on his fingers and Trowa watched his face, watch Duo bite his own lip as he slipped fingers inside his own body and fuck it all if it wasn’t the most erotic thing Trowa had ever seen. Better than any porn he had ever watched - watching Duo Maxwell finger himself while he straddled Trowa’s cock would be a memory he kept forever.  
Duo spread more lube on Trowa’s cock, stroked him a few times, and then lowered himself down, slowly impaling himself.  
Trowa groaned at the tight, vice like fit of Duo and Duo swore.  
“Fuck you feel good,” he moaned, rolling his hips a little until he was fully seated on Trowa’s cock.  
He slowly raised himself up and then lowered himself again, both men groaning at the sensation.  
Trowa was almost beyond coherent thought, between the sensations of Duo riding his cock and the sight of Duo, one hand splayed against the ceiling of the berth, his back arched so he didn’t hit his head, his other hand stroking himself - it was sensory overload.  
“Fuck,” Duo panted. “Fuck, Tro. I would have let you catch me sooner if I knew it was gonna feel this good.”  
Somehow that talking made it hotter - somehow the insult to his ego, the knowledge that he had failed - pushed Trowa that much closer to orgasm.  
“Close,” he grunted.  
“God, fuck, me too.”  
Duo came first, his cum spurting across Trowa’s chest as he cried out and Trowa thrust his hips up, thrust deep into Duo’s body and came.  
“Mhm.” Duo offered his a content, slightly dopey grin. He stretched, looking like a cat, and leaned down to lick his own semen from Trowa’s body. “That was good, babe.”  
He eased off of Trowa’s cock and pulled off the condom, tied it off and tossed it into the trashcan.  
And then he laid down beside Trowa, curled against his side, threw one leg over Trowa’s and his arm over Trowa’s stomach.  
They lay in silence and Trowa tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.  
“This was fun,” Duo said eventually. “Most fun I’ve had in years. But this was a little too close for my tastes. Maybe it’s time for me to change my line of work.”  
“So glad I could convince you,” Trowa said.  
Duo chuckled, his laugh warm on Trowa’s chest.  
“Yeah, that’s for showing me the way back to the righteous path. Hm. Do you think the FBI will hire me? I mean, they’ll need to replace you after this.”  
“You’d never make it through the background check.”  
“I make it past the TSA every day,” Duo snorted. “You think the FBI is going to be that hard?”  
Duo didn’t wait for Trowa to answer. Instead, he rolled across Trowa’s body and got out of the berth.   
Trowa watched him dress.  
Duo took his time, continually glancing up to smirk at Trowa.   
Fully dressed, he leaned over and pressed a hard, quick kiss to Trowa’s lips.  
“Don’t worry, babe. They won’t fire you. Probably a reprimand. Probably a desk job. But that’s okay.” Duo winked at him. “I’ll sneak in and we can fuck on the FBI director’s desk or something. And if you’re a very, very good boy maybe you can cuff me one of these days.”  
Duo grabbed Trowa’s overnight bag.  
“No -”  
“Babe. Really? You thought I’d just leave my fingerprints all over all of your stuff?” Duo shook his head. “Oh. Reminds me.” He pulled a mini bottle of vodka from the fridge and poured it into the trashcan. “Not foolproof - you might be able to get some DNA from that, but… I’ll take my chances. See ya later!”  
And then he was gone.  
Trowa rattled at his cuffs but the gesture was futile.  
He thought about calling out for help - but only Howard would hear him. Howard, who needed to stay at his seat, flying the damn plane so that they didn’t all crash and die.  
Fuck.  
Trowa tried to get comfortable, which was damn near impossible considering the angle his hands were cuffed at.  
What had Duo said? Four hours.  
Fuck.  
Heero was never going to let him live this down.

-o-


End file.
